


A Little Piece of Home

by TaraSoleil



Category: Captain America (Movies), MCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Stunned silence, inner monologue, personal history, pretty eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 04:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraSoleil/pseuds/TaraSoleil
Summary: When they meet, he can't help but notice her eyes.





	A Little Piece of Home

**Author's Note:**

> Discovered this in my WIP folder. I suspect I had planned to lengthen it into something more elaborate, but I can't for the life of me figure out where I wanted to go with it. Rather than let it stagnate and be forgotten again, I'll post it as it. 
> 
> If you see potential and want to expand it, feel free. I'm all for open source fanfic so long as you put a link back to me and let me know where to read your excellent works!

 

He stood in shocked silence, his heart thudding in his chest like a hammer on an anvil, though it didn’t show on his face, in his posture or in his eyes. He had decades of practice hiding what was really in his head. Perhaps those torturous years had all been a rehearsal for this moment, for staring into the face of the woman opposite. 

It was her eyes.

Blue. Not just any blue. They were the exact shade of the enamel-coated kettle he carried with him across countless battlefields. Morita had picked it up – _ stolen it _ – from a cottage in the Black Forest. He had only taken it for the night, to finally have something resembling real coffee and would have left it behind or thrown it into a ditch. Bucky had kept it, rescued it. He couldn’t explain why. They had enough gear to haul from fight to fight; a kettle seemed superfluous, which was part of why he kept it. Mostly, he just liked the color. Everything around them was dull and dirty – khaki and olive drab, white soon turned brown after a week of marching through the mud, even the vibrancy of blood dimmed to brown after a few days. That kettle never dulled. The blue always shone out, reminding him of what home looked like.

He saw that now in her eyes.

There was more to her, he was sure, but he couldn’t see it. He just stared at those eyes flecked with deeper blues like the specks in the enamel on that kettle. Those eyes were home.

And then she was gone. Before he could look beyond her eyes to see what lay around them – lashes, lips, the curve of a chin, tilt of a shoulder. He had seen none of it. 

“Who was that?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, Buck,” Steve assured him, his tone somehow conveying all manner of assumptions. “I’ll make sure she gives you a wide berth.”

He stopped, refused to move further, even as Steve’s fingers gripped his arm tightly, as if he might try to break away. “What? Why?”

Steve watched him, his own blue eyes dancing over his face as he tried to find an answer that wouldn’t set him off. “I could see you didn’t care for her.”

“Are you nuts?”

“Buck, you didn’t talk to her. No a single word.”

“I don’t talk to a lot of people,” he countered.

“You went rigid as a statue,” he insisted, which Bucky knew to be true, though not for the reasons he seemed to think.

“Doesn’t mean I want to avoid her.”

The concerned creases between his eyes faded as a smile pulled at his mouth, one bordering on smug. “Knew a girl like that would bring out the Bucky I knew.”

Something about the emphatic way he said ‘girl like that’ told him just how much he had missed while staring into those kettle blue eyes. He tested his hypothesis with a slow smile of his own.

“A stunner like that probably could have pulled you back to yourself a lot faster than my fists did,” Steve insisted with a laugh. “You want me to introduce you properly?”

“Do people need that anymore?”

“No, but it might break the ice a bit.”

“I’m plenty good with breaking ice,” he muttered.

“You and me both,” Steve agreed darkly.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As an aside, this is the first bit of editing/posting I'm attempting on this new Chromebook of mine (named Basil, said all fancy and Brit-like). My stalwart companion of 7 years finally had enough and died. Fair thee well, Urgo! May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest! ...what do you mean there's no electronics heaven? ...but where do all the calculators go?


End file.
